Seeing Her Dance
by Banana Tooth
Summary: He’ll never be satisfied with daydreaming after this. MacStella.


**Title: **Seeing Her Dance

**Author:** Banana Tooth

**Rating:** K

**Classification:** Mac/Stella

**Spoilers: **Seasons Two and Three.

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

* * *

Daydreaming about her is nothing new; he's been doing that for a long time. After a hard day he'll sit on his couch and close his eyes, and thoughts of her come automatically. _Sometimes she knocks on his door, and when he invites her in, she looks at him silently with those big eyes of hers until he kisses her, gently at first, and then harder and harder…_

He never lets himself go further than that, and feels guilty for even going that far. She's his co-worker, after all. He has to see her, work beside her, every day.

But now he has a new dream. He dreams of seeing her dance.

He can't get the picture out of his head: the fleeting image of her performing those few steps as she demonstrated Kia's choreography notes. He'd never known she'd been a dancer, but now he realizes it makes sense, explaining the way she moves so elegantly and the fluid motion of her long limbs.

He wants to see her dance again, but he can't imagine any way that would happen. So somehow, the dreams turn to him dancing with her, feeling her graceful motion as he holds her close. She's warm in his arms, her hair tickling his cheek, as they move together to the music.

He doesn't know why. He's never been much of a dancer himself—he's probably only danced a handful of times in his whole life.

At first, he contents himself with just dreaming, like he always has, but then his thoughts take a new, dangerous turn. He finds himself thinking up ways that it could actually happen. Suppose they were both at a wedding, and everyone else was dancing, so it would be all right for him to ask her…

That doesn't go anywhere, because he can't imagine whose wedding it would be. No one they know, as far as he's aware, is even close to getting married.

What if he just took her out?

They do go out together occasionally. Not as much lately as they used to, but still she wouldn't think it odd if he asked her to dinner. And if there happened to be dancing there…friends dance together, don't they?

He knows of a nice place that has dancing. He hasn't been there for years, not since Claire's company had some sort of function there, so he goes by himself first to make sure there's still a dance floor. He sits alone in a booth, watching the couples out of the corner of his eye, telling himself that he's being a fool, and finding that he doesn't care.

* * *

A few days later, he asks her. He gets the feeling you have as a kid when you're scared to jump in the water, but you shut your eyes and hold your breath and do it anyway. He manages to keep his eyes open, but it's the same feeling. 

She's a little surprised, but she agrees happily and he wonders what he was so afraid of. Not that she would turn him down, because she never does. They're always willing to do things together, just because they _like_ each other so much and always have, since the first time they met.

But a few years ago, he'd slowly realized that liking wasn't all there was to it. The discovery had scared him, and he's been arguing with himself—and daydreaming—ever since.

They arrange a date, and she squeezes his arm and tells him she can't wait. He swallows hard as he watches her leave his office, graceful as always.

* * *

As they sit together, her eyes keep returning to the dance floor. He watches her watch the dancers and almost loses his nerve, but it doesn't matter, because she asks him. 

"Do you dance, Mac?"

"I haven't in years." _Idiot,_ he tells himself. _Just say yes_.

"Neither have I. Come on, it'll be fun." She's already up, pulling him by the hand.

His heart is pounding in his ears. He lays his hand at her waist a little shyly as she sets hers on his shoulder, and he feels her other hand in his, warm and confident.

They make a good pair, he finds. She moves in closer than he would have dared to hold her, almost cheek to cheek. He's not as rusty as he had feared, and of course she's not rusty at all. He tries to keep his breathing regular, but there's not much he can do about his heart. He's sure she can feel it pounding, and that only makes it worse.

He'll never be satisfied with daydreaming after this. He tries to tell himself this was a mistake, that he should have left things as they were, that he's only making it much, much worse. Again, he discovers that he doesn't care, as long as she's in his arms and he's breathing the scent of her hair and they're dancing as if they were made for each other.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

His fingers tighten involuntarily. "Yeah."

"We haven't been out in forever."

"We've been busy." That gives him a little pang, because what they were busy with were Peyton and Frankie. He wonders if she's thinking the same thing, but he's still not sure if she ever knew about Peyton. She'd known he was seeing someone. He hadn't told her who it was, but that doesn't mean she didn't know, because she never misses a thing.

"We should make time." She leans her head down on his shoulder, and he feels his arm tightening around her and the blood rushing in his ears.

"Yeah," he repeats, feeling like an idiot again, but he can't seem to come up with anything else to say.

She doesn't lift her head, and when the music stops she wraps her arms around him, snuggling into him as if they do that all the time. He tells himself to be careful, that he's playing with fire, but still he returns the hug, his cheek against her hair. Another song starts, but she doesn't move. They're at the edge of the dance floor, not in anyone's way, so he lets her stay as long as she wants, though he's blushing from doing this in public even if there's nobody here they know.

Finally she pulls away and smiles at him. Her eyes are sparkling and he feels a twinge, almost of pain, because she's so beautiful. "Thanks," she says.

He doesn't know if she means for the dance or for the hug, and remembers that they were both her idea, so he should really be thanking her. He manages to smile back, but still can't think of anything to say.

* * *

They say goodnight on the steps of her building. "Let's do this again," she says. 

"Really?" he asks.

She slides her hand up behind his head and lays her cool cheek against his. "Really."

He feels suddenly bold, and kisses her, just below her ear. She catches her breath sharply, and he's afraid he's gone too far and ruined everything, but then when she draws back he sees that she's grinning. She kisses the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering there as she murmurs, "Thursday night?"

"Okay."

He vows to become a better conversationalist by Thursday night. He goes home and goes to bed, and dreams of seeing her dance.


End file.
